


Zero Tolerance

by BlueFox7



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (slightly) AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Discrimination, Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, Friendship, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-12
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-09 04:40:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15259656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueFox7/pseuds/BlueFox7
Summary: When Julian Bashir was six years old, his parents made a desperate choice, and changed his future forever.  But in the eyes of the Federation, their actions made Julian a criminal too.  With the laws changing, they are about to start treating him like one.(AU.  Starfleet already knows about Julian's 'secret,' but when their policies change, he stands to lose everything.  Deep Space Nine will not take this lying down.)





	1. Miles O’Brien listens, (because that’s what good friends do.)

 

Miles O’Brien eyed his best friend warily.

Julian’s last dart had been another wide miss, rounding out a third straight loss.  The usually-voluble CMO had been distracted all evening, lost in his own thoughts, and the unaccustomed quiet was unnerving.

Miles drained the last of his beer and set the empty glass on the table with an audible thud.

“Right.  You can quit pretending, Julian.  Something’s got you bothered.  You might as well tell me what it is.”

For several long seconds, Miles could read the indecision playing out on his friend’s face, but it quickly settled into a new expression: still worried, but resolved, like a man preparing for a battle he doesn’t think he can win.  ( _Or preparing to face a firing squad_ , Miles thought, hiding a frown.)

Julian abandoned his own half-finished pint and nodded. 

“Not here,” he said softly, and moved toward the exit. 

~~~~~~

Fifteen minutes later, Miles sat on the couch in Julian’s quarters, watching his friend restlessly pace.    

Julian paused, sighed, and finally gestured toward the whisky decanter near Miles’s elbow.  

“You may as well pour us each one, Chief.  I should have told you about this years ago, but…. Well.  You’d have found out soon enough.  I'd rather you hear it from me. Miles… how closely do you follow the news back on Earth?”

“I keep an eye on the headlines, about like most people, I suppose.  I Figure most of the big news, we know before they do.  Why?”

“This wouldn’t have been a lead story,” Julian replied, and he stopped behind one of the room’s two chairs, resting his fidgeting hands on the seatback as if to force them still.  “Councilor Luz Ochoa died suddenly, about four months ago.  She wasn’t a very public figure anymore, but there were a few tributes published, retrospectives about her influence, that sort of thing…”

O’Brien leaned back, sipping his whisky as he settled into his place on the sofa. 

“Sure.  She made a big splash, what was it, ten, fifteen years ago?  Promoting that bill to protect augmented kids.  Couldn’t spend five minutes in a pub without hearing the talk: ‘are they innocent victims, or a bunch of baby Khans that ought to be locked up…’” Miles’s chuckle died in his throat when he saw how Julian winced. “But that was years ago.  She got her bill passed, and I haven’t much seen her mentioned else, until the obits.”  

Julian’s grip on the chair had grown tense and white-knuckled.

“Yes, the bill passed,” he said.  “The ‘Amnesty for Childhood Augments Act.’  It was intended as protection for those who were genetically re-sequenced before their 16th birthdays, often without their knowledge or consent.  They would be closely monitored, still restricted in many ways, but they wouldn’t have to hide anymore.  It was a chance to fully engage in society without the constant fear of being found out and exiled, or locked away…  A chance to remain within the Federation legally, in fulfilling careers, contributing to society...  There were even paths to the reinstatement of citizenship, through service to the Federation – enlisting in Starfleet, for example, or through social work, or… practicing medicine.”

Miles looked up sharply.  _Medicine?_    

Julian sighed.  He seemed to notice his death-grip on the seatback, and made a conscious effort to relax, stretching and flexing his fingers, then perching on the chair’s wide arm instead.  He was carefully looking anywhere but at Miles. 

“The opposition never went away, though," he said.  "Up until her death, Councilor Ochoa was still fending off campaigns to have the ACAA repealed, even working toward something more permanent, but the opposition seemed to be growing every day, and now that she’s gone, well… You said it yourself.  People see the genetically enhanced as 'new Khans.'  _Monsters_ hiding in plain sight.”  Julian’s voice had taken on a bitter edge.  He sounded strained, like he was holding back strong emotion, but only just. 

“Last month,” Julian continued, “there was a 'gang incident' as they called it, in San Diego.  One of the boys arrested turned out to be genetically enhanced… He didn’t even _know_ it, Miles!  His parents had never told him.  He’d run away from home, never knowing why they’d tried to keep him so isolated, and yes, he’d joined a gang – probably the first time _anyone_ had made him feel he belonged.   But for the Anti-augment groups, none of that matters.  To them, one violent augment proves they were right all along, that _all_ augments are violent by nature.  Even President Jaresh-Inyo has started listening to the rhetoric!  One of _his own cabinet_ is now leading the anti-augment movement…”

Julian rose abruptly.  He snatched up one of several PADDs stacked on the coffee table and flicked it on, displaying what looked like that morning’s news feed.   He scrolled through the headlines as he spoke:

“Freaks.  An _infestation_.  Too dangerous to let them carry on living side by side with real humans.  _They don’t belong with real people._ ”

Then he passed the PADD to Miles, collapsed back into the chair, and dropped his head into his hands.

It did not take Miles long to scan the relevant headline: _“Growing support for ACAA repeal; Vote scheduled Tuesday.”_  The accompanying image showed what looked to be a large protest near the Federation Council building in San Francisco: he could make out placards with scrawled slogans like “No Amnesty for New Khans,” “Augments are Unnatural,” and even “End the Infestation,” and “Humans First.” 

The knot in Miles’s stomach was fast becoming a lead weight.  He was sure of the answer by now, but he still had to ask:

“Julian, what does all this have to do with… you?  You’re…”   

And Julian looked his friend in the eye.   

“…One of the _unnatural freaks_ they’re so afraid of.  I’ve been enrolled in the ACAA since age 19.  Once it is repealed, I will be removed from Starfleet, and exiled from the Federation.”

~~~~~~

Miles knew he was gaping.  He couldn’t help it.   He hardly knew which was more shocking: that his best friend had been illegally enhanced as a child?  That – if he’d followed this right – Julian might lose both his home and his career in a matter of days?  Or the cavalier way Julian had thrown those ugly epithets at himself…

“Right.  Ok… Ok.  One thing at a time.  You’re…”

“A monster?”  Julian interrupted, his voice still bitter and strained.

“No!  Will you quit saying that?!  I don’t care what they did when you were a kid.  You’re a good man!  And a good doctor, and a good friend.  You’re my _best_ friend.  You’re no _monster!_ ”

Julian looked genuinely surprised for a moment, and then smiled gratefully.  “Thank you, Miles.  That’s not how most people react.  And it’s ok: I don’t really believe those things anymore.  Not now.”

“So… you did?”

“Of course I did. I was only six years old when I was… changed.  I didn’t understand what was happening then, and my parents didn’t explain until much later…”  Julian looked down at his hands again, sounding almost wistful.  “When I was 15, I’d started talking about a career in professional tennis, and they had to explain why high-profile athletics couldn’t be an option for me.  But by that time, I’d been taught about the Eugenics Wars in school: that genetic enhancements were wrong, and enhanced people were always intrinsically dangerous, untrustworthy, prone to violence and megalomania...  I’d heard over and over how _Augments_ were vermin, an infestation…”

“Julian…”

Julian held up a hand.   “Yes, I know.  But those were their words.  Schoolmates, teachers, politicians…   By the time my parents did tell me the truth, it was like learning _I was_ the monster under the bed!It’s hard to stand up for your value as an individual when the whole world is telling you that you have none.”

Both men let the words settle, Julian lost in recollection, and Miles suddenly thinking about his own kids, and feeling his heart break for the young boy his best friend used to be.

After a time, Miles asked, “What changed your mind?”

“I suppose… I finally realized I didn’t have to be defined by other people’s fears.  After all, it’s not really _me_ they’re afraid of.  They don’t know me.  Most of them don’t really _know_ any enhanced people at all – or don’t know that they do.  They’re just repeating what they’ve heard.  Why should I let their ignorance govern my self-worth?”

Miles raised his glass, toasting the sentiment and earning a wistful smile.  

“Do you remember… what it was like?  The… treatments, I mean?”

“Some.  I do remember traveling to Adigeon Prime.  It all seemed so exciting: my first trip off-world, with amazing new places and new species to see…  I had no idea my first real ‘adventure’ was making me into a criminal in the eyes of the law.  And then I was taken away from my parents, and moved to a room with locks on the doors, full of strange equipment and strange people in uniforms…   For the next two months I didn’t quite know what was happening to me, or around me, or when I’d see my parents again, or _if_ I would, and the whole world was changing all the time…”  

Julian trailed off, overwhelmed for the moment by intensity of the memory. 

“I just can’t imagine putting Molly or Yoshi through something like that…” Miles said at last.

Julian shook his head.  “I don’t think my parents knew what it was like for me.  Not really.  They never saw the worst of it, and even my own memories from that time are hazy, except in my nigh… except in dreams.”  

(Miles caught the choked-off word, but let it pass.  A conversation for another time.) 

Julian went on.  “They thought they were helping, you know?  They gave up their home, their savings, ties to our old community…  They risked arrest… all to try to give me a better future.   Only, I didn’t need a better future.  I had one, if only I’d been given a chance!  But I’ve forgiven my parents, and I’ve even accepted what I am.  Despite everything, I do love the life I have now!  I love my work.   I have friends, here.  Family, even!  And… and now I’m about to lose them all….”

At last those carefully controlled emotions were bursting through, and Julian once more hid his face in his hands.

~~~~~~

It was Miles’s turn to rise and start pacing the room. 

“Julian, you sound like you’re already sure the ACAA will be repealed, but it says here the vote isn’t for two days yet.  We don’t know for sure they'll strike it down.”

“Yes, we do.”  Julian scrubbed at his closed eyes with his palms, as if trying to rub out some image in his mind.  “Captain Sisko had a message from the Human-Augment Liaison Office this afternoon….”

“Human-Augment Liaison…. H.A.L.O.?  Seriously?” 

Julian allowed a wry smile.  “You caught that quickly.  Yes, ‘HALO.’  I’ve always wondered if that name was meant to make us sound less worrying, or to remind people they're keeping engineered Devils in check…”  (Miles replied with huffed exasperation.)  “I’ve worked with the same officer there since I enrolled – being in the program is a bit like being on long-term parole, you know – and I suppose she feels a bit protective, after all this time.  I think she wanted us to have some warning, a chance to prepare.   That fact is, without Ochoa’s voice, proponents of the program have lost too much momentum, and now with anxiety about the Dominion threat, and xenophobia on the rise...  All the projections are the same.  We don’t stand a chance.” 

“But that’s… madness!   If they’re all so scared about the war, they should be begging your help, not trying to push you all out!  How can they just turn their backs on so many of our own people, right when…”

“That’s just it, Miles,” Julian said.  “They don’t see us as _their own_ people.  They don’t even see us as _people_.”

And Miles didn’t know what to say.

 ~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose not to name the law in this story “Deferred Action for Childhood Augments” (DACA). It seemed a bit on-the-nose.  
> 


	2. Quark keeps his ears open, (which is the path to profit)

Miles O’Brien was very good at fixing things.  Give him an off-line replicator, or a shuttle that wouldn’t fly, or even a whole space station with systems on the fritz, and he could fix it.   But this?  Where could he even begin? 

Instinct only told him this was not the time to leave his friend alone, and so he stayed, and he listened...  And when talk and scotch started offering diminishing returns, he pulled Julian back up to Quark’s holosuites for some well-justified escapism.  For the rest of the evening – well past when Miles was expected home – the two men took respite from reality in the Battle of Britain, basking in the normalcy of chasing down ‘cabbage crates coming over the briny,’ and both tried to forget how few nights like this might be left.

At last, though, there was no more ignoring the hour.   Miles pulled off his flight helmet, reluctantly.

“Look, Julian, I’ve got to get home, but we’ve got a perfectly good couch you can use, and you know Keiko won’t mind.  We’d be happy to have you!  Come back with me, at least for tonight.”  

But Julian shook his head and started removing his own gear.  He could just imagine keeping all _four_ O’Briens awake all night with restless tossing and turning…

“Don’t worry, Miles.  You’ve already helped, more than you know.  I’ll turn in soon – really, I will – but right now, I just want some time to think.  Go home to your family.  Get some sleep!  I’ll be fine here – I promise.”

Then Miles was giving his shoulder a squeeze, and saying, “There’s still two days to go, you know.  A lot could happen in two days,” and Julian smiled warmly. 

“Good night, Miles.”

\--------------

Julian ordered a fresh pint and took a stool near Morn’s end of the bar.  Quark’s had stayed busy, even at this hour, and he was glad.   Despite what he’d told Miles, he was far too restless to think of sleep any time soon, but here at least he might be able to settle his thoughts, in the comfortable solitude of the crowd.  

For another full hour, took in the bar’s familiar bustle.   He let voices blend together around him, now and then set off by a loud laugh or by clinking glasses, or the lusty calls of “Dabo!” and congratulatory cheers.  It was soothing, in its way.  Almost musical.

Quark kept the refills coming.  A few times he tried to prod Julian into talk, but eventually seemed to accept that the CMO was in not in a ‘sharing mood.’   

Julian's thoughts wandered over memories of Earth, and the likely outcome of the vote, and possible destinations for a newly exiled doctor…

Then he realized with a start that something had pulled his focus toward a single thread of conversation in the crowd, somewhere behind him.  He stared firmly at his glass, resisting the urge to look around, while silently he cursed the enhanced hearing that had picked out this one group of voices:

_“Honestly, they're voting it out!  Not official_ yet _, but they say it’s a sure thing!  All those creepy bastards will be out of the Federation soon.  Or locked up, if we’re lucky.”_

_“Took ‘em long enough.  Don’t know how that damned law got passed in the first place, trying to give the freaks a leg up, giving ‘em special treatment, like they’re not already looking down on all the rest of us.”_

_“Taking up good jobs, too, you know, ones that should’ve gone to real humans.  Tolun’s cousin missed out on a promotion last week, and he’s sure the man who got it’s a Khan.”_

_“Wonder how many of ‘em are out here on the station now?  Just lying in wait, right?  Bet most of ‘em will join up with the Dominion, soon as they’re out.”_

_“That’s what I’m saying!  We ought to be locking them up, making sure they never get the chance!  They’re criminals!  An’ they say every one of those freaks is violent, deep down, even the quiet ones.  They just get good at keeping it in – or getting away with it.”_

_“Don’t know what the Fed’s planning, yet, do we.  Maybe they’ve got some isolated planet picked out already, some place to drop them where they can tear each other apart all they like, without bothering the rest of us.”_

_“What, like what they did with the real Khan Singh?  Didn’t work out last time, did it, in the end.”_

_“Worked well enough, if they’d kept an eye on ‘em from a good safe distance, and not tried to go back for a visit.”_

_“I’m telling you, they ought to be just locking them up.  Bloody creepy bastards.”_

\--------------

The crowded room was suddenly small and airless.  Julian nearly knocked his pint from the bar as he scrambled off his stool and made for the exit, heart pounding and stomach roiling.  Quark called something behind him, but no words registered, drowned out now by ringing in his ears.  Some part of Julian’s mind was ticking off the symptoms of panic and claustrophobia, but the much larger part was focused only on escape. 

He had nearly reached the infirmary before he slowed, then finally stopped, supporting himself against a closed doorway and gasping in uneven breaths. 

_It wasn’t supposed to be like that here! … Not yet..._

Was this how all the others would react?  Had he been fooling himself?  Was O’Brien’s acceptance even more of an exception than he’d realized? 

His hands were still trembling.

He couldn’t go back to Quark’s, but his own quarters would be worse.  He couldn’t wake Miles and Keiko at this hour…  He thought fleetingly of calling Jadzia, but the idea of explaining it all again… no. 

He continued to the infirmary, and he stayed there, locked in his office, the rest of the night.

\--------------

\--------------

 

Rule of Acquisition Number 7 stated: “Keep your ears open,” and if Quark had had to pick just one secret to his success, it would have been that.  Customers weren’t just raw sources of latinum: overheard bar talk led him to some of his best deals, and staying ahead of the station’s gossip had kept him out of just as many bad ones.

The troubled look on Doctor Bashir’s face had suggested some rare-quality gossip in the offing, but Quark’s prodding had gotten him nowhere, (and if Quark had any other motive for trying to get the obviously-distressed doctor to open up about his troubles, he certainly wasn’t admitting it – even to himself.)  So, he’d settled for keeping an eye on Bashir’s imbibing from a distance, and had gone back to listening to more talkative patrons:

_A couple in the corner, clearly on the verge of a breakup, and both in denial._

_A group at the Dabo wheel, relaxed and laughing at each other’s losses.  Sounded profitable._

_An old Klingon trio, still swapping war stories just as they’d done all evening…_

_Four humans, all a few drinks past sober, who’d been getting steadily louder, (though not yet really noticeable to non-Ferengi ears), now talking about some big vote at the Federation Council, and…_

Now that _was_ odd.  Just as the human drunks drew Quark’s attention, he saw Doctor Bashir suddenly tense, then tilt his head as if he were listening too. 

_Just coincidence,_ Quark thought.  _No hu-mon could make their words out in this din, at this distance._

And then Bashir winced, just as one of the drunks said, “ _creepy bastards,”_ (crude, but why should the doctor care?), and winced again when the man said someone would be “ _locked up, if we’re lucky.”_

Quark watched.  There could be no doubt.  For several minutes, the doctor grew more and more tense, unmistakably reacting to a drunken exchange he should have been inaudible: _“Freaks.” “Criminals.” “Violent.”  “Khan.”_  The words seemed to strike him like physical blows.

Quark was just starting to wonder if he should intervene, when something seemed to snap for the doctor, and all at once Bashir was hurrying from the bar, stumbling slightly as he pushed through the crowd like a man fleeing fire, or fighting through noxious fumes to reach fresh air.  Quark called after him, “Dr. Bashir?” but there was no stopping the man.

The drunks hadn’t noticed, of course.  It looked like no one had. 

Quietly, Quark opened a drawer, and without lifting the PADD into wider view, called up the latest headlines from the Federation News Service.  Yes, here was the vote the drunks had mentioned.  Quickly, he read about the ACAA.  He read about the protests, and the repeal, and a summary of likely outcomes for the Augmented humans affected.  He entered a new search, and read a brief history of the Eugenics War.  And then he glanced back at where Doctor Bashir had sat, the brilliant-if-odd young doctor, whose hearing could apparently rival a Ferengi’s…

And in his mind, Quark silently recited Rule of Acquisition Number 135: Listen to secrets, but never repeat them.

He went back to tending the bar, and wondered how long this particular secret might last. 


	3. Major Kira Joins the Resistance

“Dr. Bashir?”

Major Kira peered around the office door.  Julian must have drifted off in the middle of his work, still sitting at one of the consoles.  At her voice, he snapped to alertness and sat stiffly upright, as if to make her doubt he’d been asleep seconds before.  (It didn’t work of course, but Kira let the pretense pass). 

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Doctor.”

“Hm?  No!  Ah, no, not at all.  Ah… please, do sit down, Major.  May I get you some tea, or a raktajino?”  

Nerys smiled.  “I think we may both need some tea,” she said, and walked to the replicator herself to place the orders.  Then she handed Julian one of the mugs, and took the seat he’d offered. 

Julian seemed to be discretely trying to work out a kink in his neck – thanks no doubt to hours with only a lab console as a pillow.    She took in his exhausted eyes, the tension in his posture, the worry and uncertainty his stiff shoulders failed to hide...  She hoped her news would help.

Better get right to the point.

“Captain Sisko talked to me last night," she said.  "He told me about what’s been going on, on Earth.  He also told me what it may mean for you.” 

She was keeping her voice gentle, without its usual edge.  She wasn't sure how he'd feel about his plight becoming general knowledge.  

"He’s calling a meeting of the senior staff at 09:00, to explain the situation to the others, and discuss our options.  But he wanted me to look into one possibility right away, so… Here.  The reply from Bajor arrived a few minutes ago.  I didn’t think you should have to wait for the meeting to hear about it.” 

Julian met her eyes – his expression an odd blend of hope and dread - and took the letter she held out to him.

It was an old-style letter: not a PADD, but a printed sheet, with a bold Bajoran crest above the fold. 

He opened it quickly.  He took in the letterhead of Bajor’s planetary medical board, then quickly skimmed the contents… And his eyes widened.  He looked back at her, questioningly.

“Captain Sisko said if things go badly, you may need to find a new position.  Something outside the Federation.”  She was smiling fondly as she continued, “Thanks to the Emissary, Bajor still _is_ outside the Federation, at least until the Dominion threat is over.  And this space station is sovereign _Bajoran_ territory.”

“Major, this offer is…  It’s extraordinary, and more than generous, but is it… in earnest?   They know what I am?”  

“They know _who_ you are, Julian.  Bajor doesn’t have any laws about genetic enhancement, or any Eugenics Wars or Khan Singhs in our past.  What we _do_ have is a healthcare system that’s still recovering from the Cardassian Occupation.  We need all the good doctor's we can get.  You’ve been CMO of this space station for nearly five years, not to mention physician to the Emissary himself!  Of _course_ the offer is real.  We _want_ you to stay!   And whatever happens, we want you to know that you can.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“Don’t say anything.  There’s no obligation here, and even after the vote, we don’t know what will happen, for sure.  Just… hang on to it, ok?  Just in case.   And after this all gets sorted out, if you decide you don’t want to stick around here practicing _‘frontier medicine,’_ that’s fine too.”  (And against all odds, Julian laughed; clearly, he had not forgotten his first, tactless attempt at conversation with her any more than she had.) 

“Thank you, Major.  Truly.”  The sincerity in Julian’s voice was unmistakable.  “I am deeply indebted.”

She smiled warmly.

“Just don’t pack any bags yet,” she said.

She leaned over, and quickly squeezed his hand before walking away. 

 

__________

 

Nerys was pensive as she made her way back to Ops.

She was glad Julian hadn’t been present for last night’s revelations from Captain Sisko.  She’d been shaken, and she didn’t want Julian to know how much.

Oh, it wasn’t because he was genetically enhanced; Bajor really didn’t have Earth’s hang-ups about that.  They’d been much too busy retaking their world from Cardassians to worry about whether anyone’s DNA had been tweaked when they were kids. 

It wasn’t because he’d been hiding the limits of his abilities from nearly everyone, (though if she were wholly honest, that news had been disconcerting).   Sisko had known, and approved, and anyway she was certain Julian had never held back where his patients were concerned.

No, the problem was this new knowledge that she’d been misjudging Julian Bashir for years.

She thought back to the early days – to that near-disastrous trip in the runabout, when she and Bashir had been thrown into an alternate universe:

She’d told her mirror-counterpart, _Intendant_ Kira, that Bashir was arrogant, and privileged, and ought to ‘see how the other half lives.’  She’d been playing for time, of course, trying to save Bashir’s life, but she’d meant what she said. He’d seemed so arrogant, in those days!  And so clueless and over-eager… always putting his foot in his mouth and annoying (or outright-offending) nearly everyone around him! 

And then she’d watched as this hopelessly naïve, loud-mouthed doctor was thrown into slavery in ore processing. 

She’d seen him battered and filthy, exhausted and reeking of sweat and grime and blood, and it was all too familiar.  She knew firsthand what it could do to a person.  But Julian had endured it well. He’d even managed to inspire the ‘other’ O’Brien to find his own hidden depths, snapping the man out of hopeless resignation, and planting seeds that would grow into the Terran Rebellion.   

Then she’d watched Bashir hold his head high while he was given a death sentence by the Intendant, refusing to show any sign of fear as she promised him a slow and painful public execution…   

Nerys had wondered, where had this _kid_ fresh out of med school found that kind of grit?  

Even her old resistance cell would have admitted, he’d acquitted himself well.  

Later, he’d proven the same surprising strength again and again:  He’d stood by Captain Sisko’s side through the Bell Riots; he’d endured the Dominion prison camp, and solitary confinement, and numerous battles with Klingons and Jem’Hadar… not to mention he’d refused to be cowed by her own ferocious temper!

And now, years later, she thought she finally understood: all this time Julian Bashir had been a resistance cell of one.  

Where she'd fought Cardassians, his oppressors were his own people. 

His struggle had been different from her own, but just as real.  (Always under the threat of exile or prison or institutionalization.  Always surrounded be reminders that he was an object of fear and revulsion.  Rejected whenever people found out the ‘truth’ about him….)

How much of his old awkwardness had stemmed directly from that loneliness and isolation?   How much of his bragging and apparent conceit had just been efforts to prove his own worth, after years of being told he had none?  How much of his inept flirting had been just the attempts at connection from a deeply lonely young man _?_

And Nerys thought again of their very first conversation, the day Julian arrived at DS9: he’d been brimming with excitement, tactlessly going on about “frontier medicine,” and finding real adventure in the _wilderness_ …   He’d said, _“I didn't want some cushy job, or a research grant...  I wanted this.  The farthest reaches of the galaxy.  One of the most remote outposts available!”_

Unsurprisingly, Nerys had only heard the insult.  _(“This ‘wilderness’ is my home_ ,” she’d said angrily, and he’d looked startled at the rebuke.  _He really was a bit clueless, back then.)_

Over time, her old irritation had disappeared from the memory, replaced by the kind of fond exasperation reserved for the follies of good friends.

But now, knowing what she did, Nerys suspected his true meaning had been something else entirely.  She’d heard insults and condescension, but perhaps, he’d really been trying to say, “ _I didn’t want a research grant, shut in a lab under constant surveillance, always watched in case I turn into some kind of violent madman.  I wanted_ this: _to be away from the judgment and scrutiny on Earth!  The farthest reaches of the galaxy, where maybe I can find something like freedom, and just be myself!”_

Perhaps she was being fanciful, reading in too much.  But she doubted it.

____________

She reached Ops, still lost in thought.  There was an hour left to fill before the meeting, but she just couldn't get her mind back on her work. 

Yes, she'd been shaken by the news about the doctor.  She and Julian had more in common than she'd been prepared even to imagine; but her battles had ended with freedom for all her people.  Julian's personal war was one they might not be able to win.

Still, his friends would have his back.  All of Bajor had his back, even if Starfleet didn't.  And after the staff meeting, with the whole team onboard, they'd build a new plan of attack: maybe they'd find a way for Julian to keep his commission.  Maybe they could even challenge the repeal, and help the hundreds more like him!

Maybe, this whole situation was just a political stunt, and all the legal peril would amount to nothing. 

Maybe, she thought, the worst was already behind them...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short. A 'minor edit' to the next section turned into a major revision that turned into a massive re-write... The chapter was starting to get away from me, so I've divided it up, letting the first section stand alone while I wrestle the second half into submission. Next update coming soon!


	4. Captain Sisko Rallies the Troops

Benjamin Sisko was not looking forward to this morning’s meeting.  He’d followed the news closely – with his security clearance, he knew more even than his CMO – and each update had been grimmer than the last.  The whole situation had been unacceptable from the start, but _this…_!

He threw down the PADD in his hand with a violence that should have shattered the screen. 

The last communique had been hastily recorded, an update from Dr. Karen Loews of the San Francisco HALO branch.  Loews had been helpful over the years, working hard for her charges, even when HALO itself had seemed indifferent.  She was the one who’d helped Bashir into a higher-ranking position than most enhanced people would ever be allowed, (though the remoteness of the station – and lack of other interested candidates – had made things easier).  She’d often talked about her hope that the ACAA would be totally unnecessary one day; that all her charges might eventually lead fully independent lives with the same rights as ordinary citizens.  It was only when the ACAA repeal approached reality, though, that Sisko had seen just how deeply she cared. 

This morning, the transmission had shown her fighting to control her fury.

“ _Jaresh-Inyo approved the new wording late last night.  He never questioned his cabinet’s input at all!  Now the final paragraph reads, ‘All protections granted by the ACAA will be stripped forthwith, and all Augments (whether registered or as-yet unidentified) will be reclassified as ‘hostile non-human species,’ and treated accordingly.’”_

And there had been much more to the message – some of it important for the senior staff to hear – but that one line had stuck firmly in Sisko’s mind. 

The Federation was meant to be _centuries_ beyond this kind of irrational scapegoating!  Thousands were being punished, with zero regard for their own actions or character.  With _zero_ regard for their basic humanity!  And now…  Now they were losing even the right to call themselves Human.  

_“Hostile non-human species” …_

It had been strange, all along, that the ACAA had concerned only genetically enhanced _humans_ and no other sentient species.  It was as if all the other Federation planets had agreed _en masse_ to let Earth sort out this problem for itself, and to go along with any of Earth’s decisions on the matter.  As far as Sisko had ever been able to learn, there had been no effort whatever to trace genetic re-sequencing in other species, though such people must surely exist.  He wondered: did the rest of the United Planets really believe Earth rhetoric, that humans were more susceptible than others to ‘dangerous side-effects’ of genetic engineering?  Or did they only think it was none of their business, and followed Earth’s lead out of polite disinterest in this all-too- _human_ problem?

After all, this whole ordeal existed because of human fears, rooted in a painfully _human_ past…

And not just the past of the Eugenics Wars.

Benjamin’s thoughts kept returning to an earlier period of history, well before the rise of Khan Noonien Singh, when his ancestors, too, had been treated as ‘less than human.’  They too had been denied basic rights by those who both exploited and feared them.  They had been called dangerous, and ‘genetically inferior,’ and ‘naturally savage.’  They’d been kept separate, made outsiders in their own land, always the objects of fear, and always living in fear themselves.  Even after the laws had at last begun to change, the scars from those injustices had needed another full century to heal.

He thought too of a certain accidental trip into Earth’s past, to San Francisco of 2024.  He remembered waking on the street, where the botched transport had left his team unconscious.  He and Dr. Bashir had been immediately arrested, with no one so much as asking if they were ok, or in need of medical attention.  _Just two men of color, lying in the street.... Push them out of view, where the sight of them won’t trouble their betters._ They’d been locked away in a Sanctuary District and left there to be forgotten.  

That kind of thinking was supposed to have stayed in the past!   But no, some monsters really would always rear their heads again, and this was one.

Sisko had no illusions about the real reasons behind the new wave of Anti-Augment sentiment, and the repeal of the ACAA: a handful of politicians had remembered the age-old truth that people who are frightened are easier to manipulate. 

The strategy was simple and reliable: 

First came basic fearmongering, reminding the crowds of all the uncertainties in their lives, painting the picture bleaker and bleaker.  (Talk about crime.  Murder.  Drugs.  Tell them things are getting worse every day.  It won’t matter if it’s true.  It will _feel_ true.)         

Then you offered your supporters a concrete target for those fears: convince them that people they’ve never met or barely know are secretly destroying their society.  Tell them this group is plotting against them; is naturally more violent and untrustworthy than ‘decent folks like them.’  (Any group will do.  Choose a race.  Choose a religion.  Choose immigrants, or refugees, or ‘Augments’ enhanced when they were children.) 

Then you had to dehumanize your targets, gradually ramping up the rhetoric, normalizing hate speech.  Talk about them as if they were dangerous animals who must be locked up, or vermin to be driven away.  (Under no circumstances allow the crowds to remember your targets are _people_ , with their own fears, their own unique dreams for the future.  They are animals.  A dangerous infestation.  _Hostile non-human species._ ) 

Then, you’d tell your supporters only you could protect them from the threats you’d conjured.  Paint yourself as a savior, the brave leader standing up against the hoard. 

Then ride their support into power.  

It had happened again, and again, and again.  _But this is the United Federation of Planets in the twenty-fourth century!_   _How have we_ still _not learned?_

Sisko clenched his fists.  He could remember, word for word, a conversation back in that Sanctuary District, walking through the crowds of that era's social scapegoats:

Julian had said to him, “ _It makes you wonder, doesn't it? Are Humans really any different than Cardassians or Romulans? If push comes to shove … if we are frightened enough, or desperate enough, how would we react? Would we stay true to our ideals or... would we just... stay here, right back where we started?”_

And Sisko had told him, _“I don't know. But as a Starfleet officer, it's my job to make sure we never have to find out.”_

He had the uncomfortable feeling they _were_ finding out.  He did not like the answer. 

No, Julian’s situation today did not sit well, and Ben Sisko would be damned if he watched this unfold from the sidelines. 

He touched his combadge.

“Sisko to Major Kira.  Gather the senior staff in Wardroom 1.  We have a _lot_ to discuss.” 

 

_______________

 

The gathered staff were uniformly somber.   Maybe they’d all sensed something in the air, or in Sisko’s demeanor.  Or maybe they didn’t need to: after all, what _good_ had there been to meet about lately?

As the group took their seats, Jadzia caught Nery’s eye and raised a questioning brow. ( _You know what this is about?)._ Nerys nodded back, but there was no time for discussion.  Captain Sisko was already calling them to order.

He surveyed the officers’ faces, and then began with a measured tone, walking the room as he spoke.

“Some of you know why I’ve called this meeting,” he said.  “An urgent matter has come up, concerning the welfare of this station, and much _more_ than just this station.  We’ll get to that.  But first…”  He paused, gesturing with an index finger for emphasis, “First, I want to tell you a story.  A history lesson, in fact, and one most of you have heard before.  The first part is taught in every Earth school, and it begins nearly four hundred years ago.” 

He spoke with a true storyteller’s cadence, lilting and measured, almost hypnotic at times.

He began with the history of the Eugenics Wars: the creation of the first ‘Augments,’ and Khan Noonien Singh’s rise to power.  He reminded them of the devastation that resulted and, (for the benefit of the non-humans in the room), he explained how a deep fear of genetic engineering had taken root in his species, one that persisted even now. 

He described how in the centuries that followed, any discovered Augments had lost all civil rights, often being locked away or banished without trial.

He said, “It didn’t matter whether they’d chosen to be enhanced, or if it had been done to them in childhood.  It didn’t matter if they’d ever committed a crime, or if they even knew their own genetic status.  So, those who did know _hid.”_

And then he moved on to more recent events, the ones most of his officers wouldn’t know so well: the movement that began twenty years before, in support of ‘childhood augments.’  How the activists had been able to prove that genetically enhanced people were _less_ likely – not more – to become criminals, (as most just wanted to live quietly without drawing attention).  How supporters of the amnesty movement had argued passionately that that every person – ordinary human, augment, or other – deserved to be judged by their own actions instead of by old fears; and that no child should be prosecuted for their _parents’_ choices.  They’d convinced lawmakers that the oppression of childhood augments went against every ideal the Federation was built to uphold.

He told how the ACAA had passed, changing thousands of lives for the better.               

“But that was before the Borg,” Sisko said.  “Before the Dominion.  People who feel safe are readier to extend empathy to their neighbors.  The people of the Federation no longer feel safe.”

Then he paused once again. 

He met Julian’s eyes, and he recited words he knew only Julian would recognize:

“When disasters happen… When we are frightened enough, or desperate enough… it can be hard to stay true to our ideals.”

Julian nodded, acknowledging the greater, unspoken message.

Then the moment broke, and when Sisko continued, he was again addressing the whole room.

“Some of you are know this history already.  Some of you have kept up with the briefings, and know how the anti-augment groups have gained influence at the highest levels, where President Jaresh-Inyo allows his human cabinet ministers to dictate all Augment policy.  A repeal vote is scheduled for tomorrow, and the latest reports all agree that the Council will end the ACAA outright, with no new measures to replace it.  _Thousands_ of our people will immediately be vulnerable, including 423 Starfleet officers.  423 _Loyal_ _Starfleet officers_!  About to lose their careers, and maybe much more.  That number includes the Chief Medical Officer of this station.  I for one do not intend to stand idly by.”

____________

Sisko paused only a moment to let his words sink in, and quikly surveyed the room, gauging reactions.  He noticed Major Kira was surreptitiously doing the same…

Worf was scowling, of course, but that could mean anything.  Worf was always scowling.

Odo’s face was its usual impassive mask.  There might be a trace of concern there, either for Bashir or for the station or the Federation at large, but who could say?

O’Brien… Ah.  He must have known already.  He’d looked concerned since before he’d walked in, but at Sisko’s last words, his expression had begun to turn hopeful; determined, even.  A very good sign.

And Jadzia… Yes, real worry there, but not surprise.  Not quite.  Somehow Sisko didn’t think Bashir had told her, though.  Jadzia had always seemed to see more in the young doctor than the rest of the station did.  Had she known all along?  Guessed?  A question for another time…

____________

 

Sisko continued as if he hadn’t just dropped a minor bombshell.

“Some of you may have questions for Dr. Bashir.  Those will have to wait.  Right now, I want strategy.  We don’t know yet how quickly Starfleet may move after the vote, or if they will at all.  We don’t know what actions they may take, and I want this crew ready for all possibilities.   I’ve already asked Major Kira to make first preparations.  Major, I believe you’ve had a response from the Provisional Government and the Bajoran Medical Board?”

“Yes Sir,” she said, and while still addressing Sisko she turned an encouraging smile to Bashir.  “I informed Dr. Bashir first thing this morning: his credentials are fully recognized by our Medical Board, and if Starfleet does revoke his commission, Bajor will insist on our right to choose our own replacement for station CMO.  And we’ve already chosen _Dr. Bashir_.  It will mean a change of uniform, but he’ll still have his position.  The paperwork is in place, and we can make it official with five minutes notice.”

“Good,” Sisko said.  “I’m still hoping this is only a precaution.  It’s possible Starfleet will take no action at all, or create some new policy of its own to keep its officers in place.  But we _must_ be ready.” 

Julian nodded.  “I’m very grateful,” he said.  “and I’ve already sent a message of thanks to Bajoran Medical, but…”  He hesitated, glancing back and forth between Major and Captain.  “Are we certain that this won’t create problems for Bajor, later on?  If this endangers their bid to join the Federation...”

Sisko shook his head.  “Deep Space Nine _belongs_ to Bajor.  They have every right to make this kind of choice, as the Federation is _very_ _well_ aware.” 

Then, finally, Sisko took his own seat.  “Please relay my thanks to your government as well, Major.  Their cooperation should take care of our most pressing problem.  But that’s _not_ the only reason I called this meeting.” 

He laced his fingers together beneath his chin, and leaned back slightly.  Then, raising one finger at a time, he began ticking items off his mental list.

“First, I have orders from Starfleet Command to increase security on the station, beginning tomorrow.  Intelligence has tracked a series of violent incidents connected with the Anti-Augment rallies, including four attacks against enhanced individuals.  So far, these incidents have only occurred on Earth, but our agents believe that once the ACAA is repealed, some extremists may take this as tacit permission to act more widely.  Odo, I am trusting you to ensure that does _not_ happen here.” 

Odo nodded briskly, and Sisko was certain he was already planning his strategy. 

Sisko continued, “Second: Doctor, your genetic status isn’t widely known here, but all the same: I don’t want you taking any undue risks.  I’d like you to meet with Odo later today to arrange extra security around the infirmary, and in your quarters, for at least the next few days while we gauge how the population here is reacting.”

Julian winced at the thought, but nodded.  He looked distinctly uncomfortable again.

“Third: Once we’re sure of our doctor’s safety, there are four hundred twenty-two other officers out there to consider, and thousands more outside Starfleet.  They may not be stationed on DS9, but they _are_  the Federation's own people, even if the Council has temporarily forgotten that fact.  Most won’t have our resources, or allies ready to offer them new postings outside Federation space.  But even if every _single one_ of them could find better jobs and homes than what they’ll lose, that wouldn’t make what’s happening right.”  He picked up the PADD with Loews’s latest message.  “I intend to do what I can to undo some of this damage, and I’d like to know this staff is with me on this.”    

O’Brien didn’t hesitate: “Of course, Sir.  You can count on us!  Anything we can do.”  (Sisko had to force back a smile at how quickly the Chief would go to battle for his friend.  It wasn’t only in the holosuites those two had each other’s backs.)

Jadzia was leaning forward now, focused intently.  “You have something in mind already, don’t you, Benjamin?  What do you need us to do?”

Sisko nodded.  “I had another message this morning from Dr. Loews of the San Francisco HALO branch.  She thinks we can still fight this thing.”  He saw Bashir’s eyes widen slightly.  “Several of Councilor Ochoa’s old colleagues are preparing a legal challenge,” he said.  “According to Loews, the heart of their argument is that the ACAA formed a binding legal contract with the enrollees, and that a repeal does not nullify that contract.”

Hope and doubt were warring in Bashir’s expression now.  “Could that work, Sir?   The language of the law only specifies ‘provisional amnesty.”

“And provisional upon what, Doctor?  What was your end of the bargain?”

Julian winced again, but recited, “Sufficient years without criminal behavior, compliance with HALO oversight, service to the Federation… Some of the wording is a bit vague, actually.”

Sisko smiled.  “And you have met all those requirements in good faith.  The ‘vague wording’ will only give us wider room to argue the case, according to Loews.  But there’s more.   The legal team is also preparing to argue that the ACAA itself only exists because of grossly outdated and demonstrably _false_ beliefs about enhanced people; _and,_ that older laws limiting the rights of augments are neither just, nor in the best interests of the Federation.”  Sisko noticed Bashir frowning.  “Don’t you agree, Doctor?”

“Of course!” he said “But... it’s hard to imagine that argument making much headway, right now.”

Sisko’s smile broadened. “That’s where _we_ come in,” he said.  “Loews’s team wants character witnesses.  High profile officers, for example, to testify to the valuable service of the enhanced individuals serving with them, or under their command.  I’ve already agreed to offer testimony, but statements from the rest of you would only strengthen the point.”  He gestured around the room, and was pleased to see most of his officers nodding readily.  He turned back to Julian.  “At the same time, their team is recruiting a number of…  call it _ambassadors._  They want to remind Earth that there are real lives at stake; real human faces and names and stories…  Let them meet a few ‘childhood augments,’ and see firsthand just how much the Federation stands to lose.  They’d like you to be one of these representatives, Doctor.”

He'd expected the same eager readiness from Bashir, but the doctor only looked more worried than before.  Sisko took at a guess at the cause.

“It’s not without risk,” he acknowledged. “If you agree to testify, your genetic status will become common knowledge.  It could make things harder for you, especially back on Earth.  But your testimony could be a real asset.  You could do a great deal of good.”

But Julian was shaking his head, now.  “It’s not that, Sir.  I don’t suppose I could keep my status quiet much longer in any case.  And if the repeal were to go unchallenged…” He swallowed, but kept his voice level.  “…I’d never be allowed to return to Earth, at all.  It’s just… There are _thousands_ of enhanced people in the program!  All those futures on the line...  There must be any number who would be better suited to speak?  More... Convincing?”

_Oh._   _Yes, maybe that should have been Sisko's first guess._

“Actually, Dr. Loews thinks you'd be  _perfectly_ suited.  Your work out here has drawn a lot of attention, Doctor – the sort of attention this case needs.  You’ve saved a lot of lives, including some in this very room.  There’s a whole blight-ridden _planet_ out there that owes the health of _every future generation_ to your work!  Loews knows what she’s doing.”

Bashir did not look reassured.  “I _failed_ the Teplans, Sir!  All I could find was a vaccine.  I still haven’t been able to find a cure, and it’s been a full year now, and...”

“And that’s the point, isn’t it?”  It was Jadzia who had chimed in.  She leaned over, placing a comforting hand on Julian’s forearm.  “You’ve been working on that cure ever since we left the Teplan Homeworld, haven’t you?”  

Julian nodded, brows furrowed. 

“And no one asked you to?  No one ordered you to?” 

He shook his head.  “Of course not.  It was never about orders.  How could I give up while so many are still suffering?”  He said the words like nothing could be more obvious, and Jadzia smiled fondly.

“That compassion of yours is a rare gift, Julian.  No ‘genetic resequencing’ gave you that.  I think that’s exactly what Dr. Loews wants them to see: you’re a brilliant doctor, but it’s that compassion and dedication that make you a _great_ doctor, and those aren’t ‘augment’ traits – they’re all you.  And if you haven’t found the cure yet?  Ok!  You’re fallible!” She cast a quick grin at Sisko, as she went on, “I’ve been around humans long enough to know that’s a _very_ human trait too!  But you haven’t given up, and you haven’t stopped caring.  _That_ makes you more remarkable than any engineering ever could.”

Julian couldn’t speak.  He only nodded, and briefly placed his own hand over Jadzia’s where it still rested on his arm, giving it a small, grateful squeeze.

____________

The meeting ran almost past noon.  They discussed all the contingencies they could imagine, in case Starfleet’s reaction went further than just withdrawing commissions.  They talked about legal strategies, compiling pages of ideas and arguments to send back to Dr. Loews and her team.  Nearly every member of the senior staff volunteered to write ‘character reference’ statements on Julian’s behalf.  Even Worf promised he’d write one.  (To no one’s surprise he then declared it was ‘dishonorable’ for the Federation to renege on its agreements, but the sentiment seemed sincere.)  Only Odo would not participate.  He pointed out that “the endorsement of a changeling might do their case more harm than good,” and Sisko was forced to agree.  Still, Odo would be kept more than busy with the heightened security obligations, and he assured Sisko everything would be ready well before the Tuesday evening deadline.

At last, when the group seemed nearly drained, Sisko dismissed them, encouraging them all to eat and rest before returning to their duties. 

Jadzia and Miles both waited for Julian as the rest of the group dispersed. 

Jadzia suggested they find a quiet table together at Quark’s, or maybe the Klingon restaurant.   Julian agreed, but admitted he really couldn’t think of food until he’d at least freshened up a bit: the intensity of that meeting and the exhaustion from the night before were catching up with him.  Miles confessed he could use a quick breather himself.  The three agreed to meet back on the Promenade in an hour, for a good meal (and a little more moral support).

____________

 

Julian walked briskly back toward his quarters.  He was still worried and exhausted (which was fast becoming his default state), but he was also unexpectedly hopeful.  Last night’s panic felt distant, like some half-forgotten nightmare kept at bay by the talisman in his inner pocket: he could feel the folded shape of Major Kira’s letter there, it’s small weight a physical reminder that he wasn’t alone.   

No, he was far from alone!  The whole senior staff knew the truth about him now, and not even one had rejected him.  And while they couldn’t stop tomorrow’s repeal, it seemed there was real hope they might be able to reverse it!  It was a long shot, perhaps, but it _was a shot_.  He’d seen this crew beat far worse odds than that.

He was almost smiling as he approached his own doorway, so lost in a jumble of weary thought and hopeful speculation that he never saw the figure approaching. 

He only felt the blow to the back of his head, and he saw – in the seconds before he lost consciousness – the single word scrawled across his door in thick black paint. 

It read: “KHAN”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, chapter 5: "Garak Foils a Plot"  
> (and the action gets going on earnest)


End file.
